servility
by daffodils-for-thrills
Summary: A Code Geass-inspired poem/slash/tribute/slash/attempt to explore the complex relationship between Lelouch and Suzaku.


**This was inspired by a picture I saw of Suzaku hugging Lelouch's chest. Lelouch has his hand on Suzaku's head, and his face is VERY smug. It made me wonder a bit, so I wrote THIS. I didn't use their names, but Lelouch is the king and Suzaku's the servant. I mostly use "he," so it's probably confusing... And the girl is Euphie, of course. Some parts are actually drawn from certain scenes, and some I contrived myself.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

servility

They were best friends,

They were brothers—

Though brothers they truly were not.

But soon their quest ends,

Say the others—

The others, they saw how they fought.

They were each a different caste

They knew not of til youth had passed,

And they were each of other fond,

So it was hard to break that bond.

Maybe they had not to break

If only different means they'd take,

And so it came to be that they

Would work _together_, in a way.

The darker was the king-to-be

The lighter would then serve in glee,

And so each came in their place to sit

As quite the other's opposite.

The servant knew, deep in his soul,

That his best friend was in control,

But it was not an issue til

His greatest love he came to kill.

Oh, that he—

Oh, that he—

…But it was just not so.

Oh, that she—

Oh, that she—

…But that's not how it'd go.

Accident it may have been—

Indeed, it probably was—

But he was plunged a fury in,

He was involved because.

He lifted her into his arms—

Panicking from all her harms—

And ran to find some sort of aid,

Knew _not_ if it in time he made.

He came to them upon his knees:

"Someone, _save _her! _Save _her, _please_!"

She was soaked in blood—he, too—

And there was nothing they could do.

_Killed_ her…? —_Kill _him!

_Killed_ her…? —_Kill _him!

_Killed_ her…? —_Kill _him!

_Killed_ her…? —_Kill _him!

Couldn't _stand_—he couldn't _stand_—

That he'd so carelessly there stand!

Into the stones he smashed his face,

And they began to fight and chase.

"You—_no_! You—_no_! —You _cannot _go!"

—He held a gun up to his head.

"She's _dead_! —She's _dead_! —She's _dead_! —She's _dead_!

—Your _hands_ are red! —Your _hands_ are red!"

He leapt away—he had one, too,

And then they faced right off, the two,

The rocks and dirt and space between—

And that not all, but more unseen.

We were _brothers_!

—We were _friends_!

Now we're _others_!

—Now that _ends_!

With these thoughts, they couldn't shoot.

They thought the same, although both mute.

He heard her voice within his head,

The voice of her who was now dead:

"Why would him you kill for me,

And take away, then, all your glee…?

It is me whom you loved, true,

But isn't _he_ whom you loved, _too_?"

This away his strength then took,

And in his hand, the pistol shook.

_Love _him! —_Hate _him!

—I can't _choose_!

Why to shoot do I _refuse_?

The gun went off, and grazed the cheek

Of the other—_also_ weak.

He dropped his own, and he fell down;

The servant wore a worried frown.

He dropped his own, and down he fell;

The servant stunned enough to yell.

He ran to the king, who now knelt in the dirt,

To see the extent to which he had been hurt.

The king, however, drooped his head;

Into the dirt his small wound bled.

"I'm sorry," he said. His voice was weak.

The servant paused to hear him speak.

"I didn't mean— I didn't mean—

But you must think I'm really mean…"

He laughed a bit, and looked he up;

Put out his hand, the blood to cup.

"A mistake," he said, "—_mistake_!"

What he said now—was it _fake_?

"A mistake," he said, "—_mistake_!"

He watched his shoulders start to quake.

"Why would I on purpose kill

The one who would your life fulfill…?"

The servant had a wary eye,

But saw the other start to cry.

"_Why_ on earth would I _do _that to you…?"

The servant started crying, too.

"I'm sorry it turned out this way…

I wish that never came this day…"

The servant then broke down, of course,

In grief, and pain, and cold remorse.

The king he lifted to his feet—

A touching scene, so cute and sweet—

And wrapped his arms around his chest,

And there his tear-streaked face he pressed.

A hand the king placed on his head;

The servant shut his eyes—tears shed.

He let him cry, he let him hug;

He couldn't see his _face_ was smug.

The _truth_ was, he was very _scared_,

And of the servant's power cared.

He'd always been the stronger one

When they were kids and'd go for fun

On forests slopes to run and play;

He'd climb the slopes up right away,

But _he _would _struggle_, climbing up,

Until his hand he'd have to cup.

His friend would help him with a heft,

And always for another left…

So he was strong, and _this_ he knew.

Not just body—_spirit_, too.

He didn't want his friend to know;

To different measures he would go

To keep him ignorant of this,

To keep it so his feet he'd kiss…

So when with a princess he'd fallen in love,

He'd had to but push her away with a shove,

And what better way than to kill off the girl…?

Then he'd be grieved, and to _him _his heart'd curl.

The dear servant's heart just could _not _be divided—

_This_ is just what the sly king had decided.

Now hidden from his view, he smirked.

—How very pleased he was it'd worked!

The servant's eyes would still be blurry;

Now he didn't have to worry.

He would not see he's the one who's more fit

To conquer the throne and rule people with it.

The people would love him, for he had compassion.

He'd lead and he'd rule in a new, better fashion.

The king would not have this so happen at all—

He wanted to keep all the citizens small…

The king would be the slaughterer;

The servant'd be his lamb.

He would stay away from veil,

But he would kill for ham.


End file.
